northern towns in winter
by Paul Robert Mullen
the fragments somehow disparate
eroticism the meaning of these relationships
you and me these streets that
we walk down / they die upon
the moon stays longer until midday
kids crowd the pier despite two degree gales
i am thinking of you / i am with you
photographs the gentleness of strangers
indigent devotion
peppermint ice-cream cone gripped by gloves
i stare up at the tower burgundy antique
images and allures
they crowd the penny arcade
small daily things nothing to anyone
one day i’ll tell you the truth
journey to Snowdonia
by Paul Robert Mullen
there isn’t much traffic on the road
at 4:30 a.m. roads that usually carry
the mass of rush-hour
we cruise past overnight lorries
on the carriageway soothing early morning
radio moulding us into heated seats
petite droplets of fine-rain painting the windscreen
as you smile
is that really Ben E King? we laugh
grooving with the bass
upon ghost motorways light dribbling
through the greys and shadows of cities
in the valleys
we pull in amongst station wagons parked up
on the gravel curtains drawn
across cabins / across solitary lives
the crisp of frying bacon local voices
i hold a steaming black coffee
in two chilled hands watching onions bubble
you take me by the shoulder
i can drive from here
clouds forming over the mountains
the morning air the pain of intimacy
the precision of your touch
and i am no longer sure about much
Paul Robert Mullen is a poet, musician and sociable loner from Liverpool, U.K. He has three published poetry collections: curse this blue raincoat (2017), testimony (2018), and 35 (2018). He also enjoys paperbacks with broken spines, and all things minimalist.
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